


skeleton dan (he's a skeleton man)

by ficfucker



Series: seduction through true crime - a dogtruth collection [7]
Category: Last Podcast on The Left (Podcast) RPF
Genre: (fake blood mind you), Blood Kink, Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism, dominant-ish dogmeat, in cowmen makeup!marcus, not really but also kind of, submissive-ish ben, tiniest bit of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-02 13:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20276719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: marcus is getting ready for a cowmen show when ben comes in & they both get a little distracted





	skeleton dan (he's a skeleton man)

**Author's Note:**

> he understands the dead man's plans

Marcus has just squeezed a dollop of Brylcreem into his palm when Ben calls from somewhere down the hall, “You want something to eat before you go?” 

“Uh. We got anything sweet?” Marcus picks up a black, fine tooth comb and starts styling his hair, slicking it back out of his face, revealing forehead that will soon be caked over in white. 

Ben comes into the doorway, watches Marcus a moment. “I meant a meal, Marcus, not a candy bar.” 

Marcus glances over at him then goes back to work on his hair, which is being stubborn and drooping over his eyebrows. He could use glue, but he’s not a baby punk in high school anymore and having to wash that shit out after a show isn’t worth it. “A candy bar is a meal. Hell, a poptart is a meal, too. Know how many hours of research a single Reese's Cup has got me through?”

“Oh, I can only imagine.” Ben rolls his eyes, a smile rises. “But for real. How about even, oh, some Ramen or something?” 

Marcus shrugs and sets the comb on the edge of the sink, finally satisfied with the way his hair is, rinses his hands, grabs his “Goth White Face Cream” and a flat blender pad, drags it through the face paint so it’s thick with it. “I just don’t like eating before shows, I always end up sick after. I’ll probably get a snack at the bar or whatever we decide on.” 

Ben comes into the room, passes behind Marcus, and sits on the lid of the toilet, watches as he smears white over his cheeks, his forehead in broad streaks. “What time you think you’ll be in by?” 

Leaning forward, Marcus starts to get the fine details, like near his hairline and drawing a border along his jaw, says, noncommittal, “Oh, I’unno. Midnight? 1 am, maybe? Depends how long we’ll hang around after, ya know.”

Ben nods. 

Marcus opens his mouth, draws his face out long so he can get all the corners and lines filled in. He’s had enough practice over the years: makeup takes under a half hour, depending on how detailed he wants to get. “Not much of a drinker. Probably be the first to ditch. I’ve got the script to type up for this Wednesday’s episode anyway.”

“Want me to wait up on you then?” 

Normally, Ben would go see The Cowmen, but he has Puffin and Georgie to watch over while Marcus is out, along with a bulging inbox of political emails to sift through. Him and Marcus are pretty independent of each other, though spending more and more time at each other’s apartments and in the studio together. There’s no pressure to see Marcus’ show, he’s not going to be hurt if Ben’s not in the crowd, and if they get too clingy, people will, in Ben’s worry, notice that they’ve moved away from brotherly companions and more towards a “friends with benefits” kind of deal.

“Nah. I mean, do whatever you’d like.” First step down in full, Marcus turns to Ben and grins. “Get lonely, call the dogs into the bed, I don’t mind.” He goes back to the mirror and picks up his black makeup crayon, starts to ring big dark circles around his eyes all the way up so they touch his eyebrows, colors them in. 

Ben smiles, almost embarrassed by the sentiment, takes out his phone to scroll through Instagram. He’d love to snap some photos of Marcus, snazzy in his red and white plaid all buttoned up, post them and tag The Cowmen, but they’re not really boyfriends and they’re sure as hell not public about whatever it is they’ve got going on. Outside of Henry (and Jackie, by extension), no one knows, and even then, Henry had kind of figured things out on his own, played detective and presented his evidence to them both before recording an episode. 

Marcus blacks his nose into a small triangle, lines his lips, begins to hatch his mouth with thick lines, going for a simple skull tonight, but one of his favorite designs. “Any big plans while I’m out? Besides the exciting world of Ben Kissel Politics.” 

Ben glances up from his phone to see Marcus finishing up the rows of his mouth, feels himself blush heavily just looking at him. “Uh, no, not that I can think of. Probably just put on a movie until I fall asleep. Old Man Uncle Ben stuff,” he says, still staring at Marcus. 

“Sounds like a real hoppin’ time.” Marcus gathers up his makeup and Brylcreem, puts them neatly away in the small bathroom closet in their respective drawers. He stands in front of Ben, stretches his long arms out like Jesus on the cross. “Not usually one for this type of thing but: what do you think?” 

Ben smiles softly, gives him double thumbs up. “You look good, Marcus.” 

“Alright, so how about this?” He unbuttons his flannel to reveal a blood spattered muscle shirt. “Open or close? I usually don’t go blood forward unless I black out my whole jaw, but I could pair it with my hat, I thought, or just keep the plaid buttoned-”

“Blood forward,” Ben cuts in. There must be something wrong in his head after all the time he’s spent around Marcus and nosing on BestGore, because seeing Marcus bloodied is a huge turn on, makes his heart beat faster. “And uh, don’t-don’t cover the uh, hair there, it looks good the way you… styled it.” It makes him look like comic book villain, which is also, weirdly, a turn on. 

“Alright.” Marcus leaves his shirt unbuttoned, takes a step closer to Ben. “You know what’s a crucial part of my act, Ben?” 

Ben blushes harder, takes note that Marcus is taller than him this way, a good few inches since Ben is sitting. “Uhm. Drumming.”

Marcus smiles with his eyes, keeps his mouth flat. “Well, yes. Good observation. What I really meant is staying silent and near unblinking.” No one had told Marcus that was his role, being a mute skeleton on stage, but it’d quickly come to be with The Cowmen, only opening his mouth when he had lines or when they were done playing and were being interviewed. He rarely even smiles while drumming, stays emotionless and keeps his eyes round and wide as dinner plates. 

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I’ve… noticed that bit about you.” 

Marcus nods. And stares. He puts his hands to the sides of Ben’s face, the short, fine stubble prickly under his fingers like nubby carpeting. He stares. It’s easy to tell when Ben’s flustered, which is often paired with arousal, and Marcus likes nothing more than to tease him. 

Ben shifts, on the edge of uncomfortable, turned on by the way Marcus is looking down at him both hungry and bored, unmoving, He sets his phone aside, which up until this moment, has been sitting open in his hands, ignored. “Method acting using me?” he asks, trying to muster a chuckle, but it comes out awkward and nervous. 

Marcus nods, keeps his eyes trained on Ben intensely. He brings his thumb up to Ben’s lips, swipes it over his bottom lip slowly so it tugs and drags along under his movements. 

“I swear, if Henry jumps out in a Nixon mask, I’m gonna lose it-”

Marcus leans in, almost nose to nose with Ben, and says, voice hushed but commanding, “Ben, if you’re going to touch yourself, do it now. I have a train to catch.” 

Ben gulps, his throat making a click, and he fumble-handedly grabs the front of his sweatpants, rucks them down enough to squeeze himself, half hard. “This isn’t - I’m not…,” Ben sighs. He tries again, “This doesn’t have to-to-to do with the blood. Your hair… uh, looks nice, like I said.” 

Marcus nods. He knows otherwise. He takes a step back, dropping his arms limply down by his sides, and looks blankly at Ben, watching dead eyed yet focused as Ben jerks himself hysterically in his pants. He wants to ask if Ben likes being looked at this way, Marcus being a silent participant, an onlooker, because he could certainly play the part of a voyeur again, but he’s committed to staying silent now. 

“This is-is terrible,” Ben grits. “Jerking off on a toilet with - with a skeleton man watching me. I feel like-like I’ve entered the Twilight Zone.” Ben swipes his thumb over his head, spreads his pre over his length, one eye wrenching shut, the other darting to look at Marcus then zipping away as if afraid to look directly at him. 

It’s nice to watch Ben like this: desperate, needy, very clearly embarrassed, but Marcus wants to take him into his mouth, down his throat so Ben mutters a breathy, “Fuck!” as he grabs Marcus by the hair. He’s not doing over his makeup again, though; it’s bad enough it sweats and rolls and smudges when he’s on stage, drumming hard and under bright lights. He’s not letting Kissel be the one to muss it. 

Ben groans, reaches out with a blind searching to him to grab onto Marcus, and Marcus gives him that, taking a step closer and being gripped tightly around the wrist by Ben’s free hand. “This is beyond weird. E-Even for us, right?” he pants, looking up at Marcus, his eyebrows together. 

Marcus blinks at him, cocks his head to the side to show he’s listening, but doesn’t nod. 

“I mean, I’m certainly not - not turned on by blood or- or skeletons, it’s not that.” Ben squeezes himself, shudders, fingers curling tighter around Marcus. 

Marcus takes pity, says, “I think it might be.” He tilts his head forward and drops a wad of spit onto Ben’s cock, inky swirls of black makeup caught up in it in dark, ribboning streaks, and Ben makes a noise in the back of his throat, quickens his strokes. 

“You’ve corrupted me,” Ben whines. He leans his head to the middle of Marcus’ abdomen, cheek to a big splatter of fake blood, and Marcus brings his hand up to the back of Ben’s head, affectionately runs his fingers through his hair, a gesture more intimate than they typically get with each other. 

“Much to my pleasure, I assure you, and we can explore bloodplay later, I have to go soon, Ben,” he says softly, voice dropping low. “So if you know what’s good for you, you should cum.” 

Ben squirms, huffs hard out through his nose. “I-I’m trying, Marcus, it’s hard when you’ve -ha- been - when someone’s just watching. Like doing stand up and no one’s laughing.” 

Amused, Marcus snorts and takes a step back, Ben still holding his wrist like a security blanket, doesn’t want to get his shirt dirty when Ben finishes, and by the way his thighs are tensing, how labored his breathing it, Marcus knows it won’t be long. “Mhm. Well, I could just go, if I’m being such a distraction to you.”

Ben groans, sputters out, “N-No…” 

Marcus raises an eyebrow, goes mute on him again. 

“No, sir. I-I’m-” Ben gulps, lolls his head back, eyes shut, the lines of his neck pulling like ropes. “C-Cumming. I’m cumming.” He shudders and spills over in his hand, splurts streaks over the bottom of his shirt, shoulders drawn tight, murmuring, “Oh, Marcus… Fuck…” in a voice starkly softer than he was a minute ago. 

Marcus hums, rubs his thumb over the underside of Ben’s wrist. “That’s a good boy,” he whispers, leaning in to ghost a kiss in Ben’s hair. “That’s so good of you, Ben.” 

Ben exhales, nuzzles his face to Marcus’ front, slipping his hand down to properly lace fingers with Marcus and he gives him a squeeze, tight, reassuring. “Thank you,” he breathes. 

Marcus nods, snickers, because Ben is the first person in his life to consistently thank him after sex, and he steps back, looks at the time on his watch. “Shit, well, that sure was fun, but seriously, Holden’ll kill me if I’m not there to help set up audio.” He squeezes Ben back, breaks the hold. 

“Well, be safe out there, Skeleton Dan,” Ben jokes, getting a baby wipe to clean himself. His face is rosey. 

“I’ll uh - I’ll text you between sets,” Marcus adds, lingering in the doorframe, watching Ben as he tucks himself back into his pants, feels a stir in his stomach half from arousal and half from affection, the silly nature of looking at someone you’re fond of doing the mundane (in this case wiping fresh cum off his stomach) and thinking you love them. 

“I’ll have my phone on me.” Ben smiles over at him, cheeks appling, eyes squinted shut. “Probably get a whole bunch of Puffin and Georgie bein’ cute together.” 

Marcus smiles, drums his fingers on the door frame. “And uh, I’ll be sure to eat something. And I won’t drink, because I know you worry about how it affects my meds. And I solemnly swear I will not tell people that they probably have nicely shaped skulls, even if they totally do.”

“All I ask for Marcus.” 

Down the hall, headed towards the door, phone out to text the band groupchat and ensure them he’s on his way, he calls out, “And I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back!”

“Me and the pups will keep the bed warm for ya!”

Marcus steps out of the apartment, smiling to himself. He’s more than ready for all the looks he’s going to get on the subway, being bloodied and skull-faced, none of them able to compare to how Ben stared at him.

**Author's Note:**

> got a series of dogmeat in his makeup going on my tmblr @ficfucker so if you dig that find me there
> 
> kudos + comments if you enjoyed!
> 
> suggestions welcomed, some fics already in the process 
> 
> hail yourself


End file.
